


This Revolution is Night and Day

by metonymy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sailor Moon, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Yuletide Treat, all relationships hinted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The revolution is struggling to survive, and so is Alexander Hamilton. Good thing they have a mysterious trio of pretty soldiers in sailor suits fighting for love, justice, and equality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Revolution is Night and Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, littledust! 
> 
> This crossover-fusion-whatever is inspired in part by [this fanart](http://kendrawcandraw.tumblr.com/post/134312625481/defenders-of-truth-love-and-the-pursuit-of) by @kendrawcandraw. Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NuC6lih4_0) from Sailor Moon Crystal. That ought to prepare you for what follows.

Nobody believed the rumors.

Sure, strange things were happening in the city. That was to be expected with revolutionary fervor heating up to a boil, with debates on every street corner and warring pamphlets blanketing the pavement and arguments spilling into fights in alleyways. And some whispered that there were more ominous things afoot, that the British crown could call upon older and darker powers than the endless stream of red-coated soldiers that filled the cities of the colonies. 

But those were just stories meant to frighten the young and impressionable away from trouble and out of the fray. There certainly wasn't any truth to it. And even less truth in the rumors of young women descending from nowhere in improbably scandalous outfits to fight the monstrous horrors. 

That didn't stop some of the newspapers from printing stories about it, of course. A blurry photograph that supposedly portrayed the women revealed a truly shocking amount of thigh on display. It spread across tabloids and social media like wildfire, everyone guessing who they could possibly be.

Alexander Hamilton definitely didn't believe the rumors. It was too fantastical to be true. Besides, he was more worried about the actual war and fighting as an actual soldier than rumors of girls fighting monsters. Even if they were wearing tiny skirts. 

Thus he was more than a little put out when he was headed home after a late night and was halted by a redcoat who seemed to transform before his eyes into some arcane ghoul with fiery eyes and towering limbs and hands that transformed into blades. 

"Shiiiiiit," Alexander said. 

He looked around for something he could use as an improvised weapon and saw absolutely nothing, and tried to figure out if he could run fast enough to not get his head chopped off. And then there was a cry from somewhere above him - wait, did the voice seriously say "Green Flash Revolution"? - and a beam of brilliant green light shot through the darkness and speared right through the soldier's monstrous arm. 

The soldier let out an unearthly howl. Alexander scrambled backwards in shock and tripped and fell right on his ass. 

Three figures jumped down - it looked like they jumped off the fucking roof above him, which was impossible, although not as impossible as that laser beam - and struck poses in front of him. 

"Sailor Gloriola!"

"Sailor Lumina!"

"And Sailor Novaya!"

Their skirts really were tiny, as short as their high heels were tall. How had they landed without spraining their ankles? Why were they wearing leotards with sailor collars and miniskirts? A thousand more questions ricocheted through his mind as the soldier roared again and charged, and the three girls leapt out of the way. 

"Diamond Dust Revelation!" shouted the tallest of the girls, spinning and flinging her arms towards the soldier. An impossible stream of ice crystals shot from her palms, freezing the soldier in his tracks. How was this happening? Had Alexander finally overheated his brain and snapped like Burr was always predicting? 

"Now, Lumina!" the tall one cried out. 

The last girl pressed her palms together, bowing her head. "Scattering Helpless Solitude!" she intoned, sweeping her arms wide in a complicated pattern and sending forth a tangle of rainbow lights. They wrapped around the soldier and squeezed tight, melding together into a single bright flash. Alex threw up his arm to shield his eyes; when he lowered it, the monster was gone, and the ordinary redcoat was motionless in the gutter.

The trio of improbably attired girls turned to him, and Alexander had the unfamiliar sensation of being struck speechless. 

"Are you all right?" asked the one with the long, straight hair, her dark eyes wide with concern as she came over and offered him a hand up. He hadn't realized he'd scraped his palm until he saw the blood staining her white glove. 

"Lumina," said the shortest of the three, frowning and reaching towards them. 

"It's all right, Novaya," Lumina said, looking straight into Alexander's eyes and giving him a shy smile. "He's not going to hurt me."

"I would never do anything to hurt you," he said. The tallest girl snorted. 

"Let's go, Lumina," she said. Lumina stripped off her glove and wrapped it around Alexander's hand, pressing it tight against the raw skin. 

"Don't you need this?" he asked. 

"You need it more than I do," she said. 

And then all three of the girls took off running, heels ringing against the pavement. He should have been able to catch up to them easily. But by the time Alexander stumbled around the corner they were gone. 

It must have been a concussion, he told himself as he made his slow and staggering way home. He must have hit his head - the soldier must have pushed him, and the rest of it was a really vivid hallucination. Or Mulligan's beer had given him bad dreams, or Lafayette's joint had been laced with hashish and Alexander had gotten high off the secondhand smoke. It couldn't have been real. If it had been real, then the glove would still have been there in the morning instead of some glittery dust and an inexplicable scorch mark on his desk. 

And it wasn't taking up any space in his thoughts in the days that followed, as he argued for revolution and strove to join the fight and took part in a daring and dangerous raid and talked his way into a position with General Washington. He definitely didn't think about long legs and dark eyes and a smile that lit up the night. He was too busy for that, too wrapped up in his friendships with the other soldiers and their cause to wonder about girls with impossible powers. 

Still, that didn't keep him from looking out for them, or checking the papers and social media for more of the rumors. It didn't mean he was blind to the possibility that he _had_ been saved from a mugging by a trio of pretty girls, even if a theoretical head injury had made him imagine they had magical powers. 

And if he lingered a little longer when looking into the faces of the women that were throwing themselves into the revolution, well. Alexander had a reputation.

He'd almost forgotten about the whole thing when they went to the party. A gala to raise funds for the effort and introduce Washington's men to important contacts. Alexander sort of hated the whole thing - he knew these people wouldn't have so much as looked at him before he'd joined Washington's staff - but it was necessary that he be here, and Washington had impressed upon him the importance of offending as few people as possible, so he focused on the drink in his hand and scanned the room for some way to keep himself busy and out of trouble.

Or, he thought to himself as he locked eyes with a young woman at the center of a group of older men, in a different sort of trouble. The best kind. 

He sidled up to her as the men drifted away, her laughing expression melting away to a hint of boredom. 

"You strike me as a woman who's never been satisfied," he said. She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" The tone was so cold that the air could have crackled between them with frost.

"Like me," he said, giving her a rakish grin. "I'm never satisfied."

Her eyebrows went up, dark lines arching into an expression that spoke more than his torrents of words ever could. But she put out a hand. "Angelica Schuyler."

"Alexander Hamilton," he said, taking her hand to shake it.

And then the world seemed to spin around him, her face blurring and his skin crackling like he'd been struck by lightning, and he would have sworn he'd seen a starry sky filling the space behind her and a corona of bright light around her head. Something streaked across his vision - and then she was dropping his hand and stepping backwards, half a step, looking at him like she'd seen a ghost. 

He was probably staring too. Had he just had some kind of seizure? No, he was upright. He was still holding his drink in his other hand. Angelica's hand went to her chest, covering the pendant she wore, which glittered under the lights. She looked away from him and drew a deep breath. 

"Come with me," she said, not looking back. He followed her eyes to another young woman, laughing as she watched the crowd, then growing pensive as she saw him looking at her.

Angelica reached for his arm and he braced for another one of those strange electric shocks, but it didn't come. The girl looked down and blushed, her face hidden for a moment by her long, straight hair, then back up at him as they crossed the ballroom to her. She tucked the necklace she was wearing inside the collar of her dress as they drew near. 

Angelica dropped his arm. "Allow me to introduce you to my sister," she said. The other girl looked at him, her eyes wide and dark and lovely, and for a moment Alexander experienced the strange stomach-flipping sensation of deja vu. 

"Elizabeth Schuyler," she said, offering a hand to him. He had to look up at her a little in her heels, and with her hand extended like that…

"Have we met?" he asked, and she blushed even harder. She had a beautiful smile.

"I don't believe we have," she said. 

"You must be right," Alexander said, taking her hand. There was no electric shock this time, just the warmth of her fingers against his palm where the skin was still scarred. He bent his head and kissed her knuckles. "I would definitely remember meeting you."


End file.
